Looking Back
by siriusly cool48
Summary: Hermione would always remember the events leading up to that night. She would always remember the pain, the loss, the sacrifices. But she would also remember the friendship she found along the way. Rated for character death.


**A/N: Idea Bunny gave me a visit a couple days ago, and me, being the worry-wart I am, decided to write it down because I just didn't want to forget it. I'm sorry if you hate me afterwards, I know I felt a little righteous anger while writing this. Just bear with me. I'm thinking about writing a sequel or two, but since I don't do well with multi-chaps, I might just write a series of one-shots. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Okay thanks for humoring me. You may read now.**

OOOOOOO

Looking back, Hermione knew why she had to do it. It had taken her hours to discover why she was meant to stay behind while Harry went on. She had wanted desperately to follow him, to ease the pain of his passing a little by her presence, but she knew that it was his destiny to die, and it was hers to live. Because if she had followed, she would have surely been killed herself.

Hermione would always remember that as soon as Harry descended the stairs, turned the corner and was out of sight, Ron had turned to her for answers. _Why is he going? What do you know that I don't? What is the reason that he can sense Horcruxes?_ She would remember the pain, confusion, and fear on his face.

Hermione had explained to him, choking on her words and forbidding the hot tears to fall, that Harry was the last Horcrux. She had known it, for a while at least, but had refused to take her suspicions seriously. After all, that would mean... Harry would have to die.

All the visions she had seen dance behind her eyelids this year of Voldemort's fall had entailed Harry's triumphant victory. Maybe he would win an epic duel and emerge unscathed and rejoicing. All their friends would celebrate for days, weeks, even. And life would return to normal.

But with Harry gone, who would finish Voldemort? Would it be her? Or Ron? She supposed it would be right for them to do it together. After all, Harry had always wanted the three of them to act together, as a team, and had made that clear during their stupid arguments over the years.

Hermione would always remember the tears that had welled up in Ron's eyes, and as his weakness showed through the face of strength he usually put up, she had let a few tears fall. Only a few. Because the battle was not over. Harry was sacrificing everything right now, and she could do nothing less. Without words, she had grabbed Ron's hand, and the two of them limped through the castle towards the Great Hall.

She would remember the way they had fought, like clockwork, watching each other's backs and working together, just as Harry would have wanted. The whole time, Hermione thought of everything she had shared with her friends that had led up to this moment. Their battling the troll in first year. The destruction of the first Horcrux in second. Voldemort's return in fourth year. Their search for Horcruxes this year had been the climax, she supposed. This year marked the height of their trust and friendship. The three of them had grown up together, and after all this time, she finally knew who she was, what her role was in this war, and ultimately what she would have to do in the end. Everything was heating up.

The deaths of her friends had broken her heart over and over again. Many brave and noble witches and wizards had given their lives to defend this world. When she and Ron had walked into the Great Hall, she was hit with how many lives were lost. Fred Weasley. Remus and Tonks. Lavender Brown. Parvati Patil. Her pain fueled her, and allowed her to keep pushing through, to keep defending, to keep honoring the sacrifices that were being made.

But the thing that Hermione would remember most of that night was the way everything had ceased, suddenly, as a magically-enhanced voice echoed through the silent hall.

"_Harry Potter is dead. Come out now, and we will spare you. Continue to fight, and you will die just as he did."_

Slowly, people filtered out of the hall and into the courtyard, desperate to see if the claim was true. Before she even pinpointed the Dark Lord, she had seen Hagrid, sobbing into a limp form in his arms.

_No._

There was nothing she could do now, nothing. Harry had done it. He had sacrificed himself. Hermione could never forget the screams of those around her. Professor McGonagall's heartbroken wails. Ginny breaking away from the cluster of survivors before her father could snatch her back into safety. Dead looks on many faces, as if all their hope was lost. Didn't they know? Didn't they understand what Harry had done for them? He himself had beaten the Dark Lord, it didn't matter who killed him in the end. Harry had done it once and for all.

Hermione would always remember the way Voldemort had smiled and asked anyone to come forward who wished to change allegiances. Of course Malfoy sauntered through the no-man's-land between the two forces over to his deranged father and worn-out mother. But when Neville's words echoed throughout the courtyard, pleading with his friends to keep fighting because Harry's sacrifice was not in vain, Hermione had wholeheartedly agreed.

Looking back, it had been without warning that Neville leapt forward and sliced the head off Nagini with The Sword, which Hermione had not even noticed that he had. At the time, she had no idea why none of the Death Eater's hate-filled curses had not landed or why no one seemed to be dying. She had no idea, back then, why all of a sudden they were overtaking the horde of Voldemort's minions, when they themselves were so weak and scattered. But it happened.

It would take years for her to discover why Harry's sacrifice put protection over his friends so pure, so strong, that no one who tried to kill them could do it. Just the way his mother had done, so many years ago.

Hermione would always remember the way that she and Ron and ended up parrying curses, back and forth, with none other than Voldemort himself. She would always remember, as if in slow motion, the way that Ron, finding an opening, disarmed the dark wizard, and she followed with the most powerful curse she could manage.

She would always remember his face, as it changed from confident and gleeful, to shocked and terrified. He burst into inextinguishable flames, and, being mortal, succumbed to the death that he had tried so tirelessly to protect himself from.

Hermione would always remember the moment that followed, when his soldiers had realized that their general was dead, and had fled. Most were killed. Many escaped. But the survivors on the victorious side wasted no time in flocking around the two remnants of the Golden Trio, hugging and patting and shaking their hands. It was all over.

Hogwarts was soon rebuilt. It only took a few weeks with the semi-army of volunteers that helped move the project along. Hermione's memory of those after-days was... cloudy.

The next thing that Hermione would remember clearly was Harry's funeral. Everyone wanted to speak, yet no one did. For who could come up with words to properly honor the Boy Who Lived? Hermione knew that precious few could come up with such words, so it would fall on their shoulders to speak, to encourage, to ease the pain.

She and Ron faced it together. Their time speaking before the huge crowd of people gathered on the Hogwarts grounds was brief, because they both knew Harry would have wanted a short ceremony. He would have wanted his closest friends to say good-bye to him in a quiet ceremony at his true and only home, Hogwarts. He would have wanted it rebuilt, beautiful like it was before. He would have wanted everyone to move on. But everyone wanted a chance to thank and honor the Boy Who Lived. There were things expected of him. In that one aspect he could not have his way. After all, he had never asked to be famous.

Hermione would always remember those years of her adolescence, the years of friendship and purpose and sadness... and love. Hermione would always desperately wish that Harry could have been with Ron and herself in the years that followed. His absence was painfully known to them both, but they eventually helped each other to move on, as Harry would have wanted.

Looking back, Hermione knew why she had to let him go. And looking forward, she knew there would be years of friendship still to come.


End file.
